"Dreary, isn't it?" said the voice of a stranger.
Eddie turned sharply towards the man who had taken the seat next to him. Could it be? Could the same thing have happened to this man? In that case the psychiatrists would have been proved wrong and ... well, nothing would be changed really. But perhaps it meant some ray of hope. At least he would not be so alone, he would be able to talk to this man. They could talk about it together. He almost blurted out the question right away. But he'd had so many unpleasant experiences with it that he'd refrained from asking it for a long time, and now the habit of silence held him back.
He looked at his neighbor more closely. The man's skin was freckled, he could tell that, and the hair rather light. There was something vaguely familiar about the eyes, about the whole face, but these days people tended to look rather alike ... or anyway, more so than before.
The man looked at him attentively.
"Haven't we ... no it couldn't be," he suddenly said. Then he added softly, so that Eddie could barely hear him, "It's become so hard to recognize old friends."
Eddie felt sure of it now. This man had sensed a kinship in him, and was in the same boat. But he was afraid to ask the question, so he was throwing out subtle hints, inviting Eddie to ask. Eddie took one more glance at the landscape, and then looked steadily at the man.
"I must ask you something," he said, forcing himself to speak slowly and calmly above the wave of excitement. Then he stopped, because he realized how the question would strike the stranger if he weren't what he seemed. "It's a strange question," Eddie continued haltingly.
"Go ahead," said the man encouragingly, his face earnest, "I won't think you crazy." The fear left Eddie.
"Do you, or did you ever, know color?" he asked.
"Color?" The man seemed disappointed, but not shocked.